


Divinity In Sin

by Ironkissedfanfics



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blood, Blood Kink, M/M, Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester, VERY hot and heavy, Wing Kink, Wingfic, Wings, hunt turns into smut, this is pretty much just porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-20
Updated: 2021-01-20
Packaged: 2021-03-18 21:20:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28873734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ironkissedfanfics/pseuds/Ironkissedfanfics
Summary: Dean and Cas are doing some recon for an easy hunt. Opportunities arise and they think they can take it on. Things are not so easy, in fact, and in the aftermath, Dean finds himself with a newly discovered kink and an angel willing to go there.-Blood kink and Wing kink inside so don't read if blood is not for you! <3
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 11
Kudos: 106





	Divinity In Sin

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Another night I can't sleep, so here's a little treat for you all. ^-^

It was far too cold to be out. Breath puffs in compact clouds that fly away from their lips and dissipate into the darkness above them. They shouldn’t be here; they _really_ shouldn’t be here. Rustling leaves from distant trees break the silence intermittently, swaying their attention away from where it should be. Dean’s got eyes on the mausoleum, Cas’s eyes should be the one grazing over the tree line at the edge of the cemetery. He breaks to glance where the most recent shuffling of leaves came from anyway, but sees nothing.

“Dean,” Cas says lowly, a whisper, “are you sure you don’t want to wait for Sam?”

Dean returns his gaze to the door of the mausoleum which, unless he just hadn’t noticed it being that way for the last 20 minutes of their stakeout, was now ajar. Breath catches in his throat for a brief moment as the familiar waves of fear and adrenaline rush down his spine. He shakes his head. 

“Don’t think we have a choice now. Look.” Dean motions with his head in the direction of the stone door, light from a walkway streetlamp making a bright line into the room. “Sam won’t be in town until tomorrow; there’s no point in waiting. We can handle it.”

Cas’s brow creases in uncertainty, but he nods in agreement with Dean anyway. They can still see their breath floating away towards the streetlights and the moon as they start taking slow, calculated steps towards the mausoleum. Dead, frosted blades of grass crunch lightly under their boots with each unnerving step. The night is silent around them otherwise; the dead of winter did nothing to help the usual quiet of the Illinois plains that surrounded the cemetery. Rural Illinois was just creepy to begin with, but there was something different about the nighttimes here. It was like everyone in the small towns that dotted between the bigger cities had a story, something they believed in. Most towns around here had some sort of story to it, a spiritual guardian or some curse or other. One they had passed through earlier even claimed they had a spirit that kept away tornados. Dean had laughed at the waitress in that diner then, but when he looked it up later out of sheer curiosity, there was a lot of evidence to support her claim. But, he wasn’t in the business of getting rid of entities keeping natural disasters at bay, he was in the hunting business. 

That’s what led them here, now standing just beyond the threshold of the mausoleum, limbs almost stiff in the brisk air. There was shuffling to be heard from within, the occasional shift of feet on concrete. Dean turns to Cas, catching those deep blue eyes with his own to try to convey his thoughts without breathing a word. He was never quite sure how they did that, but it had never failed them. Cas seems to understand now as well and Dean takes a deep breath before shoving the hard slab of stone further into the room. 

Light spills in, illuminating pushed up clouds of dust that swirl in the air in front of his vision. Eyes quickly jump from corner to corner, desperate to catch on the creature that was supposed to be lurking there. But that was the key word, wasn’t it? _Supposed_ to be. The room was empty, not a single cover disturbed on the long rested bodies inside. Dust slowly settles back onto the floor as Cas steps in, walking past where Dean had stopped in his haste. 

“Where’d they go? Ghouls can’t just disappear like that. What the Hell?” says Dean, a slightly irritated groan in his voice. He had _just_ heard them, had been watching that door for forever until he had noticed the change. He wasn’t insane; they were supposed to be here. 

“How sure are we that it is a ghoul in the first place, Dean? We did rush into this one. Maybe it’s something else.” offers Cas. He’s got this strange look on his face and for a moment, Dean isn’t sure what it’s about. Until, of course, the familiar stench of sulfur hits his nostrils. _Demons._

“Dean.” Cas says, the name being thrown out from his lungs in a desperate push as the soft cloud rises from his lips. He’s shifting now, almost instinctively, in the direction Cas is looking. 

“Hello, boys.” The voice comes from a woman, her stance just in front of another three currently occupied bodies. They shift behind her, feigning the need to pop joints. 

Dean straightens up and takes a defensive step backwards, back towards Cas who steps forward to meet him at his side, angel blade in hand. The streetlamp outside sputters for a moment, not committed to lighting up the enclosed space before deciding to give up entirely. Darkness covers the room and it’s less than a second before the other party takes a swift few steps towards them. 

“Dean, go!” Cas shouts as his hand pushes him back towards the entrance. Dean stumbles over his own feet in an attempt to regain his balance and within the time it takes to get upright, his eyes have adjusted to the sudden dark and he can see them piling on Cas like rats. 

“Cas, no!” Dean’s voice rips from his throat. The demon blade he was lucky to have with him gets tugged out from his pocket to rest tightly in his grasp. He closes the distance in a few short steps but as soon as he’s within range to make a connection, he gets knocked back by a bony elbow in his ribs. He can feel the air fly from his lungs as he stumbles back, the demon turning now to follow after him. 

As soon as his ass hits the concrete, the demon is over him, knees pushing hard bruises into his stomach as his temporary fists pummel his face. The wet crack of bone sounds through the mausoleum as pain flairs underneath his eye. The demon steps back and for the briefest of fleeting seconds Dean thinks they might just leave, that maybe this isn’t as much fun as they had hoped and that they would go find fun elsewhere. But, they were demons, and he was a Winchester with his angel; this was the epitome of fun for abominations like them. That was made evident by a hard, steel-toed boot connecting with his ribs. Dean cries out under the splitting hurt of it all. Another few kicks follow in swift succession; a floating feather of a thought whips around in his head about how it could be so much worse or how he could die here or maybe a mix of both. Another kick to the ribs and this time he’s sure they are broken too. 

He can vaguely hear the shuffle of the other demons when he remembers the way they had been piled on Cas. _Cas._ It was like his brain hit an override button. Some inner glass protecting that switch shatters at the sound of Cas’s broken voice, a whimper in the dark, and Dean subconsciously flips it. 

The _flick_ of a blade accompanies the sound of a sticky spot of blood falling from his cheek to the floor as he pushes himself back onto his feet. Dean squints his eyes at the large flash of light that comes from behind the demon fighting him. The light distracts the vermin in front of him long enough for Dean to take an uncertain step forward and plant his fist right under his borrowed chin. He’s sure his knuckles split at the impact, but it’s too dark to be sure.

Cas is still struggling with another demon, though Dean can now see two slumped bodies folded on each other just behind his own demon’s feet. The demon refocuses on him and despite Dean’s desperate need to check on Cas first, he knows he’ll get nowhere without dealing with this one. 

Dean grips the demon blade in his bloodied fist and makes his move. The other shifts out of the way, swiping their own knife deep into the back of his thigh. Dean cries out again and almost loses his balance once more. At the sound of a blade entering flesh from across the room, followed closely behind by the stuttering flash of execution, Dean smiles. He could taste the blood coating his teeth but at this point it almost tasted good. 

A flash of panic comes over the demon’s face before it reels itself back in. It must know it’s done for, that at this point there’s no winning. Cas has managed to kill the other three all on his own but he knows Cas won’t step in for this one unless Dean really needs it. The demon grits their teeth and charges at him again, astonishingly managing another cheek-shattering blow to Dean’s face. Blood drips from several lacerations on his face and body now but it’s less painful than before. He can feel the break of skin over his broken ribs, the deep, deep gash in his thigh, the torn edges of his face and knuckles, but there’s a gleaming lust for the kill in his eyes now and despite taking another few blows for good measure, Dean smiles through it. 

The plunge of the blade into the demon is almost like a climax of sorts. Not exactly like sex, but there’s a rush of adrenaline and endorphins that he just can’t get anywhere else. The corpse sputters out a groan and flickers out of existence, discarded body crumpling to the floor with the others. Dean let out a shaky breath, unable to hide the grin.

“Dean, are you alright?” Cas asks, voice gravelly and _why the Hell is it so attractive?_ Cas’s arms are around him before he can answer and he is promptly taken out of the mausoleum and back out into the crisp winter air. Ice cold wind licks at his wounds, causing a flare of wicked pain that made his insides burn. Cas leans down so Dean can kneel in the first, clothed knees quickly getting muddied. Despite his suit, Cas kneels down with him.

“Dean?” Cas reiterates, raising two fingers as if to heal him. Dean catches his wrist as the streetlamp regains its confidence and returns to life. Beams of light illuminate Cas’s face just right and any hopes of regular breathing flew out the metaphorical window. Cas was just as bloodied up as Dean was sure he himself looked. Red streaks dripped down his nose, from the corner of his eye, from the top of his hairline. There were tears in his clothes as well, crimson pools staining those rips. It _shouldn’t_ be so hot, it just _shouldn’t_ and yet, adrenaline still churning in his system, it was. But it wasn’t just the blood or the obviously soon-to-form bruises peppering his features, it was also just _Cas._ Cas was so frustratingly, devastatingly handsome and Dean has been able to ignore his wants, his longing for so long, but in the dim light of the cemetery, covered in blood, he was intoxicating. 

Want churns deep in his gut, flaring up the pain in his limbs and adding to it in the most sickeningly sweet way. Dean tightens his grip on Cas’s wrist and pulls his battered face to his own without a second thought. Artificial air rushes out of Cas’s lips in revelation and it only takes the angel a fraction of a second to catch up. Lips crash together as they kneel in graveyard dirt. When Cas breaks away, Dean is panting and there is smeared blood on both of their lips.

“Dean.” The words should sound guarded, like a warning not to tread too far, but instead they sound restrained and Dean Winchester sure does love a challenge. 

“Cas.” Dean says back, a smirk playing at his bright red lips. Something flares up in Cas’s eyes, likely understanding, possibly, hopefully, the same lust Dean was feeling. Cas could always read him like a book, so he didn’t even have to ask for it before he blinked and they found themselves back in the musty old motel room. 

Cas is on him the second they materialize behind the safety of a locked door. Despite the injuries, Cas pushes him down on the bed, _hard._ A sharp breath hisses from the back of his throat and as much as it all hurts, it all just feels so _good._ Pain heightened to another plane of reality; fire burn of open leaking wounds simmers into the low heat of arousal that builds steadily in his gut. Dean is absolutely positive he’s never been so turned on in his life. 

Cas crawls on the bed after him and catches his sticky mouth in his again. Desperate, needy, and harsh kisses are drawn from his lips, the bite of teeth dragging at the already cracked and broken skin. It was pure desire in the carnage of each other. Heaven’s most divine leaving pools of red in his conquest of him. With each bite, each kiss, each insanely maddening brush of hips Dean was going out of his mind with pleasure. It buzzed in his system, burned better than any whiskey he has ever tasted. 

“Dean.” Cas says again. This time, the look in his eyes is nothing but that all-encompassing, soul-devouring _want_. The innate desire they both have been stamping down for years. “If you don’t want this, tell me right now. If I touch you for one more second I’m going to rip these clothes off of your body before you can catch your breath. So tell me right now, Dean, do you want this?” Cas’s voice is firm, demanding of respect, but also low and grumbly, threatening to shake just from the struggle of holding in the lust. It made Dean want to come in his pants right there. 

“Fuck, Cas, yes I want this-” Strong fingers catch under his shirt and tear it off in one swift motion, effecting cutting off any other thoughts that were going to spill from his mouth. Stale air presses against the broken ribs and the torn apart flesh there and it should hurt, _God_ , it should hurt, but the pain crosses the border to pleasure simply because Cas is looming over him as if he was about to eat a three course meal. 

Cas is a little more careful removing Dean’s pants and boxers and then he’s there, naked and bleeding out on a rented bed underneath the steady and hungry gaze of the almighty divine. The wound on the back of his thigh wasn’t stopping up yet and it only took a few seconds before there was a growing pool of it underneath him. As he lays in his own blood, eyes trained on the disrobing seraph kneeling on the dirty motel bed, Dean sends a silent prayer to his angel. 

Cas blinks up at him, pausing his movements over the button of his pants, cut up torso already bearing itself for Dean’s view. “What?” Cas breathes out, eyes wide.

“Wings, Cas. Show me your wings.” Dean says it out loud this time and is surprised at how wrecked his voice sounds already. Cas just blinks again.

“Dean, you’ve seen my wings already, I-”

“No.” Dean interjects, cutting Cas off from his obvious train of thought. He didn’t want to see them like they were in the barn, large shadows cast against the wall. He wanted to _see_ them, to feel the feathers in his fingers. “For real this time, Cas. Show me.” 

Cas seems to get it this time, a grin that borders between nervous and excited plastered on his face. Cas doesn’t officially answer him, but that’s alright. Dean watches the angel like a hawk as the final pieces of tattered clothing fall to the floor. The sight of him- _oh fuck_ \- was too good to be true. Dean had imagined what Cas would look like in wet dreams and wet showers, but he couldn’t have pictured how utterly _delicious_ he was. He was sculpted and defined but not overly buff. His tanned skin was torn and bruised, sticky crimson stains splattered all over. His hair was disheveled as ever and Dean was going to make it his personal goal to defile this angel in the most _unholy_ ways.

Cas seems to read his thoughts, something Dean might have normally found intrusive, and a gummy grin shows up on bloody lips. “I think you have it wrong, Dean.” he starts, voice in control now, a harsh, superior tone that would make anyone bend their knee, “You are not the one in control here. _I_ am going to defile _you_.” The smirk can be heard in his voice and if he had been standing, Dean would have fallen to his knees right then. He moves just slightly, an adjustment of his hips that sends those achingly wonderful bursts of pain through his body. 

Then, Cas is on him again, hands pressing harshly over fresh wounds and older bruises. Cas’s lips catch his again in a brazen kiss, fervent and needy in between sharp bites. It was Heaven and Hell, agony and rapture all in one. Castiel was divinity bottled, stardust and reverence beneath the taught lines of coarse skin. Dean’s brain stutters from the thrill and he nearly jumps out of his skin when he feels Cas’s rough fingers wrap around his cock. 

“Cas!” It comes out in a desperate rasp, a gasp, a prayer. Cas just smiles into his skin and keeps on. Dean struggles to breathe, struggles to keep himself contained within his body. He was sure he was about to leave this plane of existence from just a _touch_. 

A loud _whoosh_ of feathers sounds overhead while Dean’s eyes are screwed shut. They snap open at the familiar sound and suddenly there’s no air in his lungs. Cas is there, entirely there. His wings tower overhead, blocking out the dingy light precariously attached to the ceiling. The room dims because of them. Large feathers coat the wings, black and oil-slicked like he had rolled in a puddle at a gas station. Light refracted off of them in such a way that Dean wasn’t entirely convinced they were real. So, even with Cas’s firm hand wrapped around Dean’s hard cock, pumping him dry and rough, Dean reaches up to touch them. 

Cas lets out this _filthy_ sound the moment his fingers bury deep in the feathers. It’s loud and guttural and just so fucking beautiful that Dean immediately brushes his fingers through them more just to hear it again. Moans and harsh breaths fall from the angel’s lips as Dean tugs at the feathers, fingers roaming to find all sorts of pleasure points hidden in the avian brush. It’s almost like a game, pushing and pulling and rubbing as Cas struggles to focus his ministrations on Dean’s cock. Dean doesn’t even care about what he’s getting right now with all those fucking _gorgeous_ sounds coming from Cas. 

He finds a small nub hidden in the feathers and tentatively presses his fingers against it, pulling an all new, utterly destroyed sound from his lover’s lips. Listening to Cas was even more intoxicating than kissing him. It was like he was high, soul soaring somewhere beyond his body trying to catch the noises that floated away from him. When he pulls his fingers away from the nub, he notices they’re wet. 

“Cas-?” Dean doesn’t finish and instead brings his coated fingers into Cas’s view. His eyes are heavy lidded, lust-blown and starshined and so, so blue. Eyes contrasted by the bright red of the slowly drying blood on his face makes Dean weak. 

“Oil. Wing oil. I-” Cas huffs, “My wings produce it to maintain themselves.”

An idea pops in Dean’s head and he sends it to Cas without parting his lips. They both grin eagerly and at this point, Dean feels like nothing will get better than this. This soul-deep, inhuman connection they have runs through them like the flowing of a river carved out in the land. Its current is strong and unending, no true starting point or end to it. He could feel Cas in his mind as clearly as he could feel him in his hands, his essence was already a part of him, why not go all in? 

Dean brings the oil covered fingers to his battered lips, slowly rubbing them over their cracks like a balm before shoving them in his mouth. Cas’s breath hitches at the sight and there was no way to hinder the quick upturn of his lips. It tastes heavenly, floral and heady and sweet. Cas watches him with the utmost attention, unblinking and focused. Dean could revel in that gaze for eternity. In fact, he just might. 

His fingers come out of his mouth with a lewd _pop_ and find their way back to the spot for more. Cas is just pure putty in his hands when his fingers are caught up in his wings. It’s addicting having a piece of Heaven coming undone under his own damned hands. After another minute of extracting those lovely moans out of Cas, he pulls his hand back out of the mess of feathers and brings it down in between them.

“Would you like to do the honours?” Dean says cheekily, a flush in his voice. Cas is finally able to regain his composure- and control- over the situation with Dean’s hands no longer running through roughed up wings. He removes his hand from Dean’s cock, much to Dean’s dismay, and instead swipes all the oil off of his fingers. 

There’s almost no time between the transfer and the hot pressure at his hole. Cas circles a finger around it, not daring to push yet but even just that is driving Dean mad. His legs are parted, he’s entirely open and waiting and wanting, so why isn’t Cas just _taking?_ Just then, as if the bastard heard him-he probably did-Cas slides a single finger past his rim. A shaky gasp gets torn from his lungs and the pull of such a breath sends an agonizing wave of pain from his ribs. He cries out, the wail turning from torment to elation. What sweet agony to be torn to shreds under the healing hands of Heaven. 

Another finger presses deep into him before Dean’s litany of cries comes to a stop. It hurts, it all _aches_ so bad, but nothing can compare to the burn of it all. At the tipping point of pain and pleasure, Dean stays. A third finger gets added, then Cas is pressing them against his prostate and he is _undone_. Thoroughly defiled by the heavenly host in the most righteously damning way. 

Then, the fingers are gone and Dean feels lost. Tossed out to sea to suffer alone. Cas laughs, a low grumble that pulls Dean from his abandoned longing. Cas is reaching into his own wings when Dean looks up at his and his breath is gone. Bent in such a way, sparse with bruises and blood with divinity on his back and a dingy halo of light above his head, Castiel is a walking contradiction of purity and sin. 

Cas’s hands come from his wings, covered in his own oil, and smear it all over his own cock. Dean watches with bated breath as Cas lines up where his fingers had just been buried. When he presses in, Dean has to struggle to hold on, to not shoot thick streams of come all over himself before they’ve even enjoyed themselves. Cas pushes in agonizingly slowly and damn it, it hurts _so good_. He finally, mercifully, bottoms out and they both huff out restrained puffs of air. It can’t be seen now that they’re no longer out in the cold, but it was humid enough in the room that if you tried hard enough, you just might have seen it anyway. 

Cas moves again, slowly pulling himself almost all the way out before fully seating himself back inside. Dean is so close to utter destruction he almost doesn’t notice Cas’s hands. One leads its fingers back around his cock, slowly but surely finding a steady rhythm with his thrusts as he hits his prostate _just right_ , and the other rests just under his ribs. Pain flares from them under Cas’s touch but then he’s staring, wide-eyed and undone as Cas lifts his now bloodied hand to his lips. Cas’s tongue laps over the red syrup there, crimson dots left on his lips for later. 

Dean comes harder than he’s ever came in his entire life. Cas rips it from him like it’s his and _holy Hell is it his_. 

“Good boy. Good boy, Dean. Come for me.” Words command the orgasm from his body and he shouts into the hot air of the room as he covers himself in his own mess. The sight of him must have done something for Cas because before Dean can even get close to coming down, he feels himself being filled up in the most _vile_ and fucking _wonderful_ way. Cas is coming, soft curse words muttered under his breath as his hips stutter and shake. 

They stay like that, silent and panting, spent and totally fucked, for a minute before Cas pulls out and cleans him up. Dean doesn’t protest because he is entirely convinced that if he tried to speak, nothing would come out. When he’s done, Cas lays beside him on the bed and wraps his arms over Dean’s heaving chest.

“Dean,” he starts, his voice much softer now, “was that okay?”

Dean grunts, struggling to tilt his head to look at Cas. At his angel. His own little slice of the divine.

“Yeah, Cas, that was something else.” Dean admits with a short laugh. This time, when the rush of air leaving his lung hurt, there was far less pleasure involved and he grimaces in pain.

“Can I heal you now?” Cas’s hands are pressing lightly on his chest, waiting for permission to let his grace course through Dean’s veins. 

“Yeah. Thanks, Cas.”

Then, the flood of ice, of a cool autumn river under soft rays of light. His eyes close to contain it, a feeble attempt to keep it bottled up inside for safe keeping. When it’s over, there’s no more pain, no spots of blood covering either of them as they lay on the untarnished, stark white sheets. 

Cas runs his fingers over Dean’s chest, soft circles trailing over newly sealed skin. His wings are gone now, back in their own realm Dean isn’t privy to and he realizes something. He places his hand over Cas’s to stop the movement, a swelling feeling in his chest overtaking him. His heart was racing and Cas must have felt the shift because he’s looking up at Dean through his lashes, ocean eyes searching his own. 

“I love you.” Dean blurts. He wants to take it back; they had just had sex, that was all, maybe Cas didn’t feel the same way. Maybe-

“I love you, too.” Cas says, as if it’s the easiest thing in the world. Dean just smiles, leaning down to catch Cas’s lips with his own. 

Heaven is an angel falling in every way imaginable. Heaven is love and lust, sin and blood. It is the soft kiss from the one you love after healing hands pull you apart. Heaven is a motel room in rural Illinois. But most of all, Heaven is the two of them, bound by fate and destinies discarded. There’s simply nothing better than this.


End file.
